


when the stars come out

by NotPersephone



Series: Count and Countess Lecter [23]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, F/M, how many of these can I write? great many, no plot just love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 11:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17579672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: Bedelia adapts to being looked after by Hannibal during their first months together at Lecter Castle.





	when the stars come out

“Did I forget something?”

Hannibal’s hand pauses next to a cup of coffee and he turns his head to look at Bedelia as she rests on her forearm to lift herself up on the bed, a small frown wrinkling her brow. A frown he has sensed immediately, even without looking.

“No, it’s perfect,” a tiny smile pulls at lips almost unknowingly as she regards the neatly arranged tray with two coffee cups, crisp white porcelain with a platinum leaf embellishment.

And her almost naked waiter with his robe hanging open over his frame. It is not an unwelcome scene to wake up to, her eyes peruse his exposed body at length, but the nagging conflict that caused the frown persists.

“I am glad,” Hannibal smiles with relief and returns to adding spices to her cup.

Just the way she likes it; Bedelia presses her lips in the same absentminded manner.

“You don’t have to bring me coffee every morning,” she says hesitantly.

“Would you prefer tea or juice instead?” he asks casually.

“You know that is not what I meant,” she retorts firmly, but his response somehow lessens her confusion.

“But I want to do it,” he marks his words by offering her the cup with a small nod of his head, “Besides, the kitchen is _so far away_.”

“Hannibal, I live here as well. I can manage,” she attempts to sound stern but the inviting smell of freshly brewed coffee and the image of Hannibal abandoning the flimsy cover of his robe are rather distracting.

“Of course, this is your home,” he responds at once, his solemn eyes meeting hers, making her feel more and less at ease all at the same time.

“But I want to ensure you remain snug,” he adds, now with a puckish grin on his lips, “And the bed is the best place for that.”

Bedelia cannot argue with that; she loves the space of their bedroom and its sense of warmth that has nothing to do with temperature, even though Hannibal makes sure it is always to her comfort. An island of their tranquillity with the anchoring centre of the bed. The light canopy and sheets complement the carved, dark frame; contradictions coming together in harmony, much like its owners. She watches as the tall windows invite the first rays of the day to stretch across the floor, never casting shadows, only expanding the brilliance of the room.

Hannibal takes his own cup and walks to his side of bed, taking a mouthful of the drink and placing it on his nightstand before slipping gracefully under the cover. He props a pillow behind his back and open his arms in an inviting gesture. Her body responds instinctively, and she moves closer to nestle in his embrace, her back against his chest. How strange, she thinks, it is not a basic necessity, but she needs it all the same. Perhaps even more so now as she lets go of her own long-established instincts. She sighs contently and leans back, tucking her head in the usual spot under his chin, continuing to sip her coffee. _Her spot_. When did it become normal for her to consider ownership of the area on his body?

“What would you like to do today?” he asks as his arms envelop her further, clearly indicating his leaning.

Bedelia finishes her coffee and lets him relieve her of the empty cup. She ponders over her past morning routine, one she had never strayed from. She had not lingered in bed without purpose; her strict schedule became a part of her armour, structure hiding feelings she had never allowed herself to dwell on.

But not anymore.

Her body feels languid, nestled in the comfort of his embrace, making her lightheaded on how wonderful this feels.

“We can just stay here for the moment,” her own words surprise her, her mind rebelling at inactivity but somehow this is what she wants most.

Hannibal smiles, more than delighted with her decision, then lies back down, pulling her with him, making her rest comfortably on his chest.

“ _Puikus pasirinkimas_ ,” he comments, brushing the strands of hair away from her face and stroking her cheek. 

“ _Tai yra jaukiausia vieta_ ,” Bedelia sighs, making good use of the newly learned expressions and feeling happy with her recall. She stretches languorously across his torso, watching the sun light edging in further.

And they do not remain completely idle; Hannibal takes this chance to expand her vocabulary with new phrases, his finger tracing the letters of each word on her back; it is the most pleasant of lessons. She wonders if he is purposely choosing such intimate moments to ensure she has positive associations with the new language. If so, it is redundant, she concludes, turning her head and looking at him, she already has all the positive attachment she needs.

“We should have some breakfast,” he suggests all of the sudden, and Bedelia realises that she is in fact famished.

Another essential turned into want; she has always treated food as part of her routine, but, of course, that is not the case with Hannibal. He takes great pleasure in spoiling her taste buds, every meal an intricate performance for her alone.

“Is there any coconut bread left?” she asks, her appetite sharpened at the thought.

Hannibal smiles. “For you, always.”

 

Another cup of coffee marks the arrival of the afternoon, this time accompanied by a freshly baked madeleine, as all too familiar hand appears next to her.

“Thank you,” she puts down her book and accepts the saucer, her eyes following Hannibal now taking the seat on the other side of the sofa.

His hands reach for her feet and he places them on his lap, stroking them gently. But the caress stops unexpectedly.

“What happened?” Hannibal’s eyes focus on the red bubbles of blisters on the side of her foot that were not there this morning.

“It is nothing. My new boots are a bit tight.”

She took a walk while Hannibal was still busying himself in the kitchen. She enjoys exploring the grounds, getting to know her surroundings and vice versa, the environs welcoming her presence with fresh wonders every time she ventures further. But today’s outing proved rather straining.

“It is fine,” she adds, seeing him glare at the spot as if wanting to make the blisters disappear by the sheer power of his stare.

She fights her instinct to retract the foot; she has never experienced anyone fussing over the tiniest of things before. She is perfectly capable to taking care of the scratches herself, it feels like less of a bother. Her internal tussle is interrupted when Hannibal stands up suddenly and leaves the library. Bedelia makes nothing of it; she is _fine_ after all. She takes a bite of her cake, soft and buttery, a perfect offering of golden delight melting on her tongue.

She finishes her drink when Hannibal returns as unexpectedly as he left, this time carrying a small bottle and a cotton pad. He takes his seat and her foot, then opens the bottle and soaks the pad. Bedelia watches his ministrations with an increasingly arched eyebrow.

“It is witch hazel,” Hannibal explains, “It will help to dry out the blisters.” He does not wait for her to comment, bringing the pad to her skin, gently dabbing the spot.

Her sober gaze turns soft as she watches him tend to her foot; it is completely unnecessary, but she does not want him to stop.

“There,” he puts the cotton pad away, “We can apply some ointment later once it gets a chance to dry a bit.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly, and Hannibal looks at her with a smile, making it obvious there is nothing to be thankful for.

“I will leave you to you book,” he strokes her foot one last time, then stands up and leaves, but not before taking her empty cup.

Bedelia is certain he has sensed her unease and wants to give her space; it makes her feel more exposed.

Reluctantly, she returns to her book, trying to silence her thoughts, the witch hazel soothing her bruise and his touch still warm on her skin.

 

She opens her eyes to find the light almost gone, the red dusk already turning purple, bathing the book shelves in an eerie glow. It takes her a moment to realise where she is. She must have dozed off while reading; it is not a first time that has happened, her body deciding her overthinking mind needs a repose. Yet, she usually woke up almost immediately, feeling the cold settling in her numb limbs or the muscles of her neck stiffening. But not this time; covered with warm blanket, her head placed on a pillow, she slept through the afternoon. She sits up, stretching her rigid body. A strong smell of herbs reaches her nostrils; she looks down to find her foot wrapped loosely with a bandage.

Bedelia stands up, walking up her legs, and walks towards the window, looking out at the violet sky that will soon turn dark. The black of the night can be frightening, like all things unknown, but it is beautiful once they stars come out, illuminating the truth. She discerns more stars shining on the skyline of her guarded mind with each day here. Hannibal’s care extends beyond the mere attending to her needs; she smiles at the warm sensation settling in her heart, as though he were holding it safe in his hands.

She makes her way upstairs and finds Hannibal in the bathroom, removing his shirt. Its colour is no longer blue but turned grey with a thick layer of dust, stretching all the way up to his head.

“I cannot leave you alone even for one afternoon,” she says from the threshold, continuing to scrutinise his appearance.

Hannibal turns at once at the sound of her voice, a pleased boyish smile adorning his lips.

“I was in the wine cellar,” he explains, brushing the dirty shirt off his shoulders and tossing it aside, “I did not want to make any noise upstairs as not to wake you. I decided to clear some bottles before the contractors arrive to fit new shelving. And not a day too soon, some of them are quite unsteady.” He gestures to his dishevelled state. “But I did discover some hidden vintages,” he adds proudly, and proceeds to unbutton his belt.

“You should be careful,” Bedelia comments, still regarding him with worry, “You could have hurt yourself,” she steps closer and instinctively touches the faded scar on his abdomen.

“I am being careful, I promise,” his hand covers hers and he squeezes it gently.

Hannibal is less conflicted about her constant care, but it does not make him any less emotional. They stand together in silence, both cherishing each other’s touch.

“I do need a shower,” he speaks after a moment and Bedelia lets go of his body, ready to leave.

“Or a long bath,” he adds, stopping her in her tracks, “Would you care to join me?”

Bedelia looks at his smiling face, smutted and begging to be cleaned. Or kissed. She can settle for both.

“As long as I don’t get my bandage wet,” she responds with a timid smile.

She steps closer again and strokes his hair, sending the dust specks swirling in confusion. But Bedelia knows exactly what she wants. She lets him guide her to the bathtub; they have many starry nights ahead of them.

**Author's Note:**

> The Lithuanian phrases mean "excellent choice" and "this is the cosiest place" respectively, according to Google translate, apologies for any errors.  
> This is a completely self indulgent exploration of tiny, domestic moments between them, which is obviously my favourite. Thank you for reading!


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